Chapter Seventeen
F rom that night on, it took Moss less and less time to slip out of his own pile of sheepskins and slide into Arran’s instead. Arran tried to keep some mental distance between them, aware that he was starting to look forward to Moss’s presence in his bed each night.
He hadn’t considered himself lonely, until one night Moss took his time and Arran caught himself pining for Moss’s softness and warmth, and his peculiar, paradoxical prickliness.
Moss brought sharp edges into Arran’s refuge, managing to both shatter and elevate the peace of it.
Being cooped up together through the storm only made matters worse. Arran hadn’t left the cave except to drench himself when it felt like his skin was steaming. Moss was in his face all day, prodding him with little jibes and challenges. He said ‘Good dog,’ when Arran gave him a meal, or put logs on the fire, or scrubbed out a pot. It made his tail wag like a fucking puppy, and his cock go hard like a wild wolf.
Moss knew exactly what he was doing. He’d taken to lounging around the cave naked as well, save for his velvet frock coat. The smell of him was everywhere. Moss’s musk and his need even wove into the fibres of Arran’s bed, causing him to get hard as soon as he lay down in it.
So after three days of this, with no sign of the storm abating, Arran gave in.
That morning he set down a plate of fish in front of Moss and held up a finger. ‘Today, every time you call me a good dog, I am going to make you come.’
Moss unfurled eagerly from his lounging position on the floor. His expression said Christmas had come early. ‘Is that a promise, wolfie?’
‘Try me.’
Moss flashed a wicked grin. ‘Good do—’
‘Come,’ Arran said firmly.
He watched Moss drop to the floor again with a gasp, shaking through his breathtaking ascent toward climax. Moss spilled his load over the stone with an agonised moan and knelt there panting.
Arran nodded at the mess. ‘Clean it up.’
‘How?’ Moss asked slyly.
His glibness ripped a snarl from Arran. ‘With your tongue.’
Arran’s cock burned while he watched Moss lap at the pool of cum like a thirsty animal. In truth he wanted to join him. To fucking roll around in it and cover himself in Moss’s scent.
Own him. Own every part of him.
His knot throbbed. He craved to bury it in Moss. To let it swell and hold him there.
Moss glanced up, licking his lips. His face shone with pleasure, seeking approval with his eyes. ‘Have I done well, wolfie?’
‘Not yet.’
Arran’s lungs rumbled as he swept Moss up in his arms and deposited him on the stone workbench. ‘Get hard for me again.’
He needn’t have issued a command, as Moss’s cock was already stiff and pink, ready for more. Arran shoved open his legs, relishing Moss’s excited moan. He observed the ring of muscle around Moss’s hole twitch with anticipation.
Arran knelt and pressed his tongue to it.
‘Ohhhh, shit,’ Moss gasped. ‘That’s… that’s something else. ’
He has not experienced this before, Arran realised, and his cock nearly hit its peak at the thought of giving Moss this gift.
Compared to a human tongue, Arran’s was exceptionally agile. He arched and coiled it against Moss’s hole, eliciting more sharp gasps and fervent moans. When he pushed it inside, Moss quivered, digging his fingers into Arran’s scalp.
‘Wolfieeee…’ he whined, like a plea.
All the while, Arran kept a sharp eye and a warning claw on the beast. It was presently satisfied to be fucking Moss with his tongue.
Arran felt he had more control over himself now, having been forced to exercise his restraint against Moss over and over again. But still, he kept half a thought on the cooling rain outside, that he could always dash into it if things got too intense.
Moss began to crumple on the bench above him. ‘Wolfie, shit, I… please…’
The please shot through Arran’s heart and cock at once. He ripped his snout away and rose to place his cock there instead. Moss instantly gripped his shaggy chest fur, trying to pull their bodies together. ‘Yes,’ Moss panted. ‘Yes, please.’
Arran might as well have been on a leash for Moss, he reflected later, seeing how his body unthinkingly obeyed. His cock plunged in, gliding in its own slick, knocking the wind out of Moss with the first blow.
Moss reeled backward, still clinging onto Arran’s pelt. Arran clasped his hips, claws digging into Moss’s perfect buttocks, and yanked him back and forth on his cock. Moss squealed and cried out ‘ Please! Please! ’ until all Arran’s restraint left him and his rhythm turned wild and the power of his thrusts made Moss shriek.
‘ Come for me, ’ Arran roared. ‘Come so fucking hard for me, Moss.’
Moss released a scream of near-agony. His tortured cock sprayed Arran’s fur, catching the underside of his chin. Arran’s cock bucked, close to release.
‘Look at you, wolfie,’ Moss breathed, gulping air. ‘All unfettered and everything. Good dog. ’
‘Not now, Moss,’ Arran responded raggedly. He fought his instincts, He was so fucking close. So close to sinking his teeth into Moss’s neck and knotting him up to his guts.
Moss looped his arms round Arran’s neck and purred in his ear. ‘Can I have your knot, this time?’
‘Not my knot,’ Arran gritted out. He managed to bring his thrusting hips to a standstill, cajoling his thudding cock into a slow retreat.
Moss pouted and rocked into him, chasing Arran’s cock. ‘I want you to own me.’
‘You don’t know what it means to want that.’ Arran finally eased himself free, holding Moss back at arm’s length. His blood thumped deafeningly in his ears.
‘I know what I want, wolfie.’
‘Do you?’ Arran snapped impatiently. The beast flashed its claws, eager to pound Moss into the rock until he screamed and came again. His cock was still very much on board with the idea. ‘Do you actually know what you want, Moss? You hate being a slave but you beg me to treat you like one. You push your body so far with me that even your mind starts to break. Do you want me to knot you just so you can have another panic attack on it?’
Too far. Too fucking far.
Arran clamped his jaws shut, though the snarls continued to spill through his fangs. Moss’s glare of blistering betrayal burned into him.
Arran turned and ran for the rain.
He crashed into the storm and howled at the sky. His rage exploded, thrashing his limbs at the vines, the dirt, the rocks around his cave. His claws left marks in all of them.
This was where the werewolves got their bloodthirsty nature from. It was all from him. His animal fury was blinding. Fuelled by a boiling cauldron of self-loathing in his heart. There was no room for anyone else to inhabit it.
Arran beat his wrath into the earth until his muscles were finally drained.
Behind him, Moss’s voice cut through the haze. ‘Guess that’s what happens when you suck at being honest with yourself, huh?’ His tone was sour. ‘You don’t want to admit that you like using me, right? I bet you even got off to fucking me so hard I had a nervous breakdown on your dick.’
Arran couldn’t yet force his guttural growls to form words. He suspected Moss was in no mood for apologies, anyway. Instead, he crawled to face Moss and sat on his haunches, scowling up at him while his body calmed down under the pelting rain.
Moss was a sight to behold, proud and defiant, framed in the mouth of the cave. The wind whipped at his hair and coat, an embodiment of the fury in his emerald eyes.
‘You may not want to own me. Or admit that you want to,’ Moss said. ‘But I am allowed to own my pleasure and my pain the way I want to. You said so yourself, that we’re complex. We’re made of contradictions. I’m allowed to hate being forced just as much as I’m allowed to love giving in to you. I’m allowed to hate being used when it’s against my fucking will, and I’m allowed to adore being used when I fucking. Choose. To. Submit.’
Moss spread his arms wide and took a mocking half-bow. ‘Look, I learned a lesson from you. Boundaries. ’
He turned on his heel with a flourish and disappeared inside the cave. Arran panted through his nose, claws raking the mud.
Good, he told himself. This was good. Moss’s roots had been worming too close to his heart, and it was good to have them ripped away. Good to be reminded that it was so easy to hurt people. He’d promised to never hurt Moss.
He’d promised Flòraidh the same thing.
Arran lifted his face into the rain. If only it could wash away sin as easily as it washed dirt from his fur.
For his beast to crave ownership of Moss was one thing. It was instinct, desire, a base need that called to be filled.
But for his heart to start craving the same? That was even more dangerous, for both of them. It meant Arran was more likely to surrender. To let Moss talk him into submission, even though Moss didn’t realise he was asking for a new set of chains to be fastened on him. Arran was afraid of what it meant to want Moss so badly.
Moss excited him, thrilled him, matched him.
He had to go. Before Arran caged him here forever.
His resolve gathered into a decision. He would take Moss to see the Walker witch, like he’d meant to do weeks ago. Arran knew he shouldn’t have delayed so long. Moss deserved to be free.